


That Girl (she holds her head up so high)

by AvaRosier



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-15
Updated: 2014-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-04 19:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1790269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaRosier/pseuds/AvaRosier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her musings were cut short when she spotted a broken-down classic truck on the shoulder of the highway which was accompanied by a wet-dream of a man standing near it. Well, never let it be said that Octavia Blake never extended her hand to a friend in need. That he was not her friend was immaterial—the phrase could be applied retroactively, she thought.</p><p>(Or: How Octavia Blake Makes Friends, take two)</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Girl (she holds her head up so high)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nyxierose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxierose/gifts), [demonscantgothere](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=demonscantgothere).



> Pretty much fits in the same universe as 'A Thread That Has No End'.

                                                                                              

                                                                                                          (graphic by Tumblr user [demonscantgothere](http://demonscantgothere.tumblr.com/post/88448632401/fandom-whom-i-love-so-much-i-saw-the-bellarke))

* * *

 

 

Riding her bike along the highways near the Appalachian mountains in early September never failed to make Octavia feel utterly liberated. The sun was growing lower in the sky, dark golden and signifying the approach of late afternoon and she had passed a country store about ten miles back advertising fresh apple cider. She promised herself she would stop there on her way back.  She usually left the philosophy to her brother, who had majored in the discipline in college, but she could surmise that the purring engine between her thighs was the symbol of her freedom and the vehicle of it. It enabled her to pretend she was leaving everything behind and escaping, even if it was just for a few hours.

When she had bought the bike, the men in the shop had smiled condescendingly at her, not believing that she seriously wanted a motorcycle. Especially not a proper one like this. She was used to that type of reaction from people.  At twenty-four, Octavia Blake was a woman who did whatever the hell she wanted; always had, always will. “ _Just like her mother, that girl_ ,” the older folks in her small town had always muttered. But their tones weren’t always full of reprobation.  “ _Oh, she’s not a bad girl. She’s just headstrong_.”

Her musings were cut short when she spotted a broken-down classic truck on the shoulder of the highway which was accompanied by a wet-dream of a man standing near it. Well, never let it be said that Octavia Blake never extended her hand to a friend in need. That he was not her friend was immaterial—the phrase could be applied retroactively, she thought. She rolled to a stop in front of him and extended the kickstand before swinging her jean-encased thighs off the bike.

Being in the throes of an Indian summer, it was still warm enough that she shrugged out of her leather jacket and tossed it over the back seat next to her helmet.  Her skin was positively tingling from the awareness that the Dreamboat’s eyes were roving over her body. That was alright with her, because she was checking him out as well. Particularly the way his shirt was unbuttoned practically halfway to his bellybutton. _The deeper the vee, the closer to God_.

“Hey there, you look like you could use some help.” Brown leaves crunched under her boots as she sauntered up to him. Dreamboat gave her an easygoing smile and Octavia was sure she had a good feeling about him.

“Depends. You know your way around an engine?”

As if that would stop her.  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and waved it in front of his face. “No, but I happen to be best friends with a genius mechanical engineer who moonlights as a grease monkey.”

Dreamboat chuckled, a deep sound that seemed to reverberate through her bones. _Down girl_ , she cautioned herself, _don’t get weird and scare him away_. Being homeschooled for the first sixteen years of her life had meant she didn't always react in socially acceptable ways. She scrolled down her contacts list until she got to ‘R’ and hit ‘call’.

“The name’s Octavia, by the way.” She told him, wanting to break the sudden silence. 

“Octavia? I like that. My name’s Lincoln. I’d shake your hand, but…” He raised his palm to show her the black streaks of grease marring the smooth skin.

“ _’Lo_.”

“Hey Raven, I need to pick your brain about something.” She said in lieu of a polite starter.

“ _For you, sure. I like people who appreciate my brilliance_.”

“Well, I’m on the side of the highway with Lincoln here—“  He bent closer to introduce himself, “hey,” “—and his truck is broken down and perhaps you could help us troubleshoot what the problem is.”

“ _Lucky thing he’s got you there, huh_?” The insinuation came through the tinny speakers loud and clear. Octavia flushed. “Raven!”

Lincoln couldn’t hide the small uptick to his lips.

“ _Okay, Lincoln. First, I need to know what kind of truck you’ve got there_.”

Octavia had to suppress a shiver when he wrapped his fingers lightly around her wrist and brought the phone closer to his face. “it’s a ’62 Ford F100.”

Raven whistled over the line. “ _Sweet. I’m impressed_.”

“Thanks. I inherited it from my uncle.” His fingers brushed over her pulse point and she wondered if he could detect how fast her heart was beating. She made eye contact with Lincoln while he gave Raven a quick run-down of what had happened shortly before the car had given him trouble.  Finally, she began sprouting directions.

“ _Okay. O, I need you to do exactly as I say_.”

Octavia jumped at the realization that Raven expected her to do the fixing rather than the car’s actual owner. The chances of her making a fool of herself skyrocketed. But all the same, she put her phone on speaker and handed it to Lincoln with a tight smile before facing the open hood.

“ _You’re looking for the upper radiator hose.  You know where you check the oil_?”

“Yep.” That was a basic she'd picked up when Bellamy had taught her the ins and outs of car maintenance when she was fifteen.

“ _Look for the cap next to that big block, but whatever you do don’t open it_.”

“Found it.”

“ _Okay, the big hose attached to that, you want to feel it carefully. Is it warm_?” She bent further under the hood and tapped her fingers lightly against the hose before closing her fingers around it.

“Nope.”

“ _Well, there you go. Stuck thermostat. It’s blocking the flow of coolant to your engine_.” 

Lincoln broke into the conversation then. “Is it fixable? I’d hate to leave this baby by the side of the road.”

“ _You betcha, but I hope you’re stopping somewhere in the area so you can at least have a mechanic take a look_.” Octavia thanked the gods that she had a friend like Raven Reyes who was so obviously (to her, anyways) fishing around for details on her behalf.

“Yeah, I’ve just moved to Staunton.”

“ _What a coincidence, that’s also where Octavia lives_.”

Octavia restrained herself from showing just how happy she was to hear that. Between the two of them, with Raven directing like a conductor, they managed to get the radiator valve working properly. Keeping an eye on Lincoln, who was closing the hood and then wiping his hands on a rag, Octavia took the phone off speaker and put it up to her ear. “Thanks, Raven. I owe you one.”

“ _Yes you do. Don’t forget to snap a picture of the guy so I can see. Go get ‘im, tiger_.”

She ended the call and slid the phone back into her pocket and squared her shoulders. You see, unlike her brother, who pined after stubborn blonde doctors from afar, Octavia went after what she wanted. “So, what do you do for a living, Lincoln?” She asked, heading back over to where he waited.

“I’m an artist. Mostly sculpture.” So he works with his hands. Even better.

She leaned her hip against the side of the truck. Lincoln smiled and mirrored her movement, crossing his arms in front of his body. The action made his shirt pull tight across his arms and chest, showing the definition in his muscles. Distantly, she wondered what his scruff would feel like against her skin.

“Well…” he chuckled with his eyebrows raised and Octavia realized with growing horror that she must have said that last part aloud.  “You’re a very forward woman.”

“Is that a problem?”

“Nah. Not in the slightest.” That, she thought, was probably the best thing he could have said to her.

“Good, then come over here and kiss me.”

He nodded and slid closer to her, bending his head inch by inch towards her own. “I do need to show you my gratitude for helping me fix my truck.”

“Yes you do,” she whispered when his lips were millimeters from hers.

Lincoln, she discovered, was a soulful kisser. His mouth moved against hers slowly, enough that each anticipated brush of his lips over her own sent tingles rippling through her body. And when his tongue swept into her mouth, she all but wrapped herself around him, spreading her fingers over the back of his shaved head. She was barely aware of being borne backwards until she was pressed against the passenger side door. 

One thigh was inserted in between hers and Octavia nearly moaned at the sweet pressure against the seam of her jeans. The lacy leotard she wore as a top was partially see-through and it seemed to make his touch feel like it was nearly on naked skin. She did moan then, when Lincoln dipped his head lower to press a light trail of kisses from the curve of one breast up the column of her throat. She finally got an answer to her earlier question. His beard wasn't as scratchy as she had thought it would be, and the wiry hairs abraded the sensitive skin where her jaw met her neck in a way that was downright erotic.

Their final kiss, before he pulled away, was thorough and Octavia was glad for the metal against her back. It bolstered her confidence to see him looking equally poleaxed as he gazed into her eyes. “As much as I want to continue, we probably should move this away from the side of the road.”

“Right,” she murmured dazedly. “If you follow me back a few miles, there’s a country store where you can buy me some apple cider and we can sit in the back of your truck and talk.”

She of course, didn’t intend on doing that much talking. But Lincoln nodded and grinned broadly down at her. “Sounds perfect.”

She did wobble a bit on her heels as she headed back to her bike.  Yeah, she had a great feeling about this guy.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from the lyrics to 'Rebel Girl' by Bikini Kill


End file.
